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For College Deans, Crisis at Any Second

But psychiatric drugs such as Prozac that popped up in the 1980s and '90s have changed the culture of campus life; they've made it possible for many teenagers who wouldn't have made it to college in the past to get in.

In the past 25 years or so, Kadison said, the likelihood of suffering depression on campus has doubled, serious thoughts about committing suicide have tripled and sexual assaults have quadrupled.


Todd Olson, Georgetown's vice president for student affairs, talks with student Lynn Van Alstine during a routine dorm visit. He always keeps his BlackBerry clipped to his belt, just in case an emergency develops at the campus.
Todd Olson, Georgetown's vice president for student affairs, talks with student Lynn Van Alstine during a routine dorm visit. He always keeps his BlackBerry clipped to his belt, just in case an emergency develops at the campus. (By Kevin Clark -- The Washington Post)

Now, one in 10 students seriously considers suicide in college. Nearly half get so depressed that they can't function, according to the American College Health Association, and every year, about 1,400 college students die from injuries related to drinking alcohol.

Georgetown's Olson emanates calm. He's a tall, easygoing midwesterner with photos of his young children scattered around his office and construction-paper turtles taped to the wall.

He laughs easily, listens carefully and takes the long view: His job is to ensure that those things that happen outside the classroom -- which many believe are the most powerful part of the college experience, the most important, the most enduring -- are as good as they can be.

He doesn't worry about every little prank and crazy stunt that students dream up. Experimentation and risk-taking and laughing at authority are part of growing up and figuring life out, he said. But, sometimes colleges do have to set rules that seem ridiculous to students -- such as no candles in dorm rooms -- because of the potential danger.

At a morning meeting, staff members gave updates on emergency plans, on how jammed the health clinic has been. They asked for volunteers to staff the mechanical bull at a spring celebration.

Later, Olson and the residence life director walked to a dorm, as they sometimes do to check in on things. No one had sprayed the fire extinguishers at the performing-arts dorm for months, and freshman Janet Orrock was ladling batter into a pan in the dorm kitchen, baking rainbow-chip cupcakes for her chemistry teaching assistant.

Back in his office, Olson had another meeting, talking about hiring and about a student who was threatened with a knife at a nearby pizza place. All day, as he stepped into elevators, people gave him updates about a senior who had had surgery that morning. They get to know many students, especially leaders, very well; that afternoon, senior Ben Cote came in asking Olson for advice on an overseas scholarship and hugged him goodbye.

At the spelling bee that night to raise money for tutoring in District schools, a crowd gathered to cheer contestants through the toughies. Olson walked onstage to get his first word.

"Hallucinogen," the judge said.

Olson looked at the judge. Everyone laughed.

It was Thursday night. Somewhere on campus, candles were flickering in a dorm room. Some students were surely flipping out over finals. Others were well on their way to sloppy drunk. But for a while at least, college life was as good as it looks in the brochures.

Nothing to worry about.


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